


The Wanderer

by wocket



Category: Real Person Fiction, Waco (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Cults, Hook-Up, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: McVeigh needs to blow off a little steam after spending time on the road. He finds just the guy to help at a bar called Cue Sticks in Waco, Texas.
Relationships: Tim McVeigh/David Koresh
Kudos: 9





	The Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

> While McVeigh did visit Waco in 1993 during the FBI/Branch Davidian stand-off, I am pretty sure it was not to have sex with David Koresh.

Tim is horny when he gets out of the Army, there’s no other way to put it. After three years of being surrounded by attractive, masculine men and being able to do absolutely nothing to do about it, Tim has a lot of pent-up energy that needs releasing.

Tim gets his honorable discharge on December 31, 1991. He spends the next few months driving around the U.S. to gun shows to make ends meet, selling rifles and anti-government bumper stickers and other odds and ends. In March, his travels take him to a city halfway between Austin and Dallas called Waco, Texas.

Tim gets into a routine - work all weekend at a gun show, then target some nearby bar where he can find a willing participant to help him blow off steam. Tim likes to think he’s getting pretty good at picking out places he can find a discreet hook-up. There are gay bars in the bigger cities, all kinds of places he can go when he visits his sister down in Fort Lauderdale (Tim’s never seen anywhere else like it), but a lot of the towns he stops in during his travels have nothing of the sort. It’s not that he only wants to fuck guys, but it’s easier to get picked up by men, easier to be nameless and faceless that way. Tim wants somebody who knows what to do with their hands, their body.

Tim stakes out every joint before he makes a move, trying to find someplace that isn’t too busy, isn’t too conspicuous, somewhere he won’t be bothered. Somewhere Tim can arrive solo and leave in the company of a strange man and won’t be noticed. 

Tonight’s haunt is a bar in Waco called Cue Sticks, behind the K-Mart on Old Dallas Highway. Tim’s not a big drinker but he orders a gin and tonic in an attempt to loosen up as he takes in the scene. It’s a weeknight, so it’s not too crowded. The bar is a typical dive bar, shitty lighting, a few billiards tables, people milling about casually. There’s a small band playing on the stage in the corner of the bar, just a guitarist, a drummer, and a bassist. The lead singer isn’t bad, Tim thinks, and the music’s not terrible, either. 

Tim briefly thinks of high school, of how he wanted to be in a band but played no instrument. Some nerd’s misguided idea of being cool. 

Tim listens to the rock music, casually watching the band, flush rising on his cheeks when the vocalist catches his eye across the room. He doesn’t look that much older than Tim, he can’t be past thirty-three.

The band wraps up a song with a flourish and finishes their set. Tim turns back to the bar.

A minute later, Tim feels eyes on his back, senses someone approaching. He turns - it’s the lead singer, the guy with the guitar.

“You look like you need another drink.”

Tim assesses the man from head to toe; he has a rocker meets hippie vibe about him, with brown feathered hair that reaches his shoulders, and aviator glasses. He’s got sort of a natural light about him, something that makes Tim want to hear what he has to say.

“Yeah, all right,” Tim agrees.

The man asks the bartender for two Jack Daniels. “You’re not from around here,” he observes.

“No. Good call,” Tim answers, but gives no more information.

“What brings you to the great state of Texas?”

A dozen reasons go through Tim’s head, but he feels compelled to be somewhat honest with this man. “There’s a gun show at the expo center.” Tim takes a sip of his whiskey. “You live here?”

“Yes. Well, ten miles southeast of here, on a little slice of heaven called Mount Carmel.”

“Heaven, huh?”

The man smirks. “Well, it’s enough. A simple living but a good one. We get by.”

“We?” Tim asks, looking for clues, trying to determine if the guy is single or taken.

“I live with a few of my friends.”

“Okay. What kind of friends?”

“Just friends,” he assures. “So what’d you think of our set?”

Tim realizes the guy is more desperate for attention and approval than he initially thought. Maybe this could work in his favor. Maybe he could stroke his ego and then stroke something _else_ of his.

“Not bad. That last song… Did you write it?”

“I did,” the guy smiles proudly, as if he’s pleased that Tim noticed. The man extends his hand. “My name is David.”

Tim shakes it. “Tim. Tuttle.” Despite feeling like he can trust this guy, Tim gives a fake name anyway, out of habit.

“Pleasure, Tim Tuttle.”

Tim likes the way his T’s roll off his tongue.

They make idle chatter for a few minutes, talking about music, until Tim drains the rest of his drink. He looks the guy up and down. “Look, we’ve just met. We could sit here for two hours, wasting money on drinks, or we could get a hotel room right now.”

The man grins. He reaches into his wallet for a few bills, which he tosses on the bar. “Let me grab my guitar. I’ll meet you outside.”

_Holy shit, it worked,_ Tim thinks.

It’s a dark night, only a few stars shining in the sky. The wind picks up when Tim steps out of the bar, the crisp air refreshing where it hits his face. He looks around the parking lot, trying to figure out which car belongs to his new friend.

David reappears a moment later, brushing his hand against the small of Tim’s back. Tim shivers, not sure if it’s from David’s touch or the cold.

“There’s a motel off Route 77,” David tells him. “You want to follow me?” He loads his guitar case into the back of a black ’68 Chevy Camaro.

Tim feels a little silly following the classic car in his Geo Spectrum, but he drives behind him until they reach a two-story ochre building about seven miles away.

Tim goes inside to pay for the room while David paces outside. _At least I won’t have to sleep in my car tonight_, he thinks, _even if this is disappointing_. He tries to keep his hopes high but tempered. 

Tim leads David to room number 7.

Tim’s not great at this part. He wishes for a glass of alcohol just so he could have something to do with his hands. 

There’s something about David that is just a little overbearing, something that’s just a little off. As much as he was studying David, he felt studied, too, like the guy was trying to get inside his mind.

David took stock of the way Tim was standing ramrod straight. “You a military man, Tim?”

“Yes,” Tim answers out of habit. His face falls a little. “Well… not anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that,” David purrs. “It’s a good look on you.” Tim, despite his recent honorable discharge, is still wearing fatigues and combat boots. “_A man’s heart may deviseth his way, but the Lord will direct his steps._ Proverbs 16:9.”

“Uh, right,” Tim agrees, trying to focus on the compliment.

“How can I thank you for your service?” David asks, words dripping like honey.

Tim chuckles.

David steps forward into Tim’s space, takes his face in his hands, and kisses him. 

Tim’s eyes flutter shut, and he lets himself be kissed. His hands move to David’s hips, where he tucks his fingers in his belt loops.

David flicks the top button on Tim’s flannel undone, moving steadily down the row of buttons and pulling his shirt open.

David spies the shoulder holster under Tim’s left arm as he’s untucking his shirt. 

Tim eyes David carefully, watching his face. You can learn a lot about a man from his reaction to a gun.

David unbuttons one more button with a flick of his wrist. “Desert Eagle?” David asks.

Tim nods. “You have a good eye.” Tim thinks it over for a second, then pulls the gun out of the holster and hands it to David.

David holds it, aims the weapon at the television set.

_His stance is decent,_ Tim observes. He walks up behind David. “You ever fire an AR-15? All that power under your fingertips,” he says, his hand caressing David’s hip.

“I might have one or two of those lying around somewhere,” David smirks. “AK-47s, M-16s, MP5s…”

“An MP5? Really? I’d love to get my hands on that,” Tim responds, getting distracted. It’s only his favorite topic, after all. “You know a lot about guns?”

“I know a little.” David turns in his grasp. “Is that what we came here to talk about?” David asks, amused.

“No,” Tim answers, and then his mouth is occupied, David’s lips meeting his own.

Without missing a beat, Tim takes the gun back and sets it on the dresser, kissing David through the entire swift motion. Both hands free, Tim runs them down David’s sides, tucking them in the back pockets of David’s jeans so he can haul the older man closer.

David kisses him with purpose; Tim feels himself giving in to desire, love stirring up inside him.

David reaches down and grabs him through his jeans. Tim tries to hide his heavy breathing against David’s neck, feeling his cock twitch under David’s firm hand. His heart beats rapidly in his chest, blood thrumming under his skin. 

David puts his hands on Tim’s shoulders and pushes, pushes until Tim’s down on his knees between his legs. David murmurs at the sight, an appreciative noise. 

Tim unzips David’s jeans, draws them halfway down his hips.

Tim wets his lips before going down on David. Tim licks at his cock earnestly, sliding his lips over the head, then further down, taking him in slowly until David’s cock is pressing at the back of his throat. Tim stretches his mouth wide, working him over, masterful with his tongue, lips, throat. 

“Your mouth is sinful,” David tells him. “Where’d you learn to do that, sugar?”

Tim doesn’t answer, just takes him deeper.

David places his hands on Tim’s head, a perverse benediction. 

David fucks into the soft, wet heat of Tim’s mouth unforgivingly. He presses his thumb to the corner of Tim’s mouth, slips it in beside his dick.

“We’re going to have fun, you and me,” David grins. “Can I fuck you?”

Tim’s eyes light up.

David grips Tim’s biceps and hauls him up from his feet. He kisses the taste of himself from Tim’s mouth as Tim runs his hands all over David’s chest, feeling the hard muscle under the skin, tracing his fingertips over the jut of David’s hips. 

David drags the back of his knuckles down Tim’s neck, across his sharp collarbones.

Tim shivers at the touch, goosebumps rising on his flesh. 

David follows the touch with kisses, then puts his palm flat on Tim’s chest and _pushes_. Tim falls back on the motel bed.

David divests himself of his garments before climbing on top of Tim. Bearing him down against the bed, he kisses Tim’s neck. 

“Let’s get rid of these,” David tells him, reaching for the zipper on Tim’s jeans. He reaches into Tim’s boxers, getting a hand on him, before helping Tim pull the jeans off his skinny legs. Tim’s cock is long and thin, less girthy than David’s, but impressive anyway, and so desperately hard.

David’s hands are rough. His callused fingers slide over Tim’s erection and he rubs his thumb over the head of Tim’s dick, spreads the pre-come with his fingers so he can work his loose fist over Tim.

Tim’s been thinking about this all day, spent all morning at his table at the gun show people-watching and imagining the good-looking ones throwing him down, filling him up on their thick fingers. Now David’s here, two fingers deep in his ass, and it feels good. Better than he remembers.

David’s ready to fuck him, hard dick pressing insistently into his thigh, strong arms pushing him down, down, down. Tim grabs his bicep.

“Hang on,” Tim requests, digging through his discarded clothes for a condom. He’s always got one (or two), he’s not taking any chances. He remembers being unable to look away from the news his junior year of high school, seeing bleak reports full of fear and myth about men (_men like him_) and a controversial, mysterious illness. Tim tucks the condom into David’s hand.

Tim tries to hold back his groan when David presses the tip of his cock inside him, biting his tongue against the burn. He grabs at David’s arms where they’re caging him in, short fingernails leaving half-moon marks everywhere Tim clutches at him.

David’s hair sticks to his sweaty forehead as he pumps his hips against Tim’s, fucks his way deeper into the younger man. Muscles rippling, his tan body is firm where it’s held against Tim’s pale frame as they make the beast with two backs. They move together, one flesh.

“Let go,” David encourages, hoping he won’t hold back.

Tim clenches his bony fingers in the pillow, moaning a little, trying to hide his howls. 

David pounds Tim’s hole, feels Tim stretch around his cock. He strikes Tim’s prostate with every motion, that spot that feels incredible, incomparable, and Tim comes with David inside him, a flash of the divine.

Tim’s not very graceful, jerky in his movements, even less elegant after coming all over himself. He grits his teeth while David’s hips snap against his own, pressure building, heat rising. 

Tim hears David’s heavy breathing in his ear, feels him everywhere, and for a second it’s overwhelming, but David’s skin is warm on his and he’s even warmer inside him, his cock throbbing, a pulsing release.

Exhausted and satisfied, Tim rolls onto his side. Sex ought to be a good work-out. It ought to take your breath away.

David props his head up on his elbow after the pull apart and catch their breaths. “How long are you in town, Timothy?”

“The show ended this afternoon. So… tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” David narrows his eyes. “Tomorrow’s Wednesday. Why don’t you stick around a day longer? Come to Bible study?”

“Uh, no thanks. I don’t think so,” Tim answers, still unsure about the man’s weird religious overtures. “Not my thing.”

“We got more than enough room down at Mount Carmel,” David tries to persuade him. He’s persistent.

“I’ve got to hit the road,” Tim fibs.

“_My God will cast them away, because they did not hearken unto him, and they shall be wanderers among the nations_.”

“How does your church feel about…” Tim motions between their naked, sweaty bodies. “I don’t recall hearing anything positive at Good Shepherd. In fact, I mostly remember the altar boys calling me a homo.”

“Well, maybe that’s what people say,” David starts, his voice even and calm, “but they were coming from a place of fear, not love. The Lord speaks about love and it can be a beautiful thing if it’s not mis-used.”

“So your God’s cool with you picking up strange men in bars?”

David smiles, tight-lipped, feeling tested. “Maybe He thought you needed to hear a message.”

“Maybe.”

“We’re all here for a reason,” David drawls cryptically, a smile on his face. “Are you sure yours was a gun show?”

Tim stares at the motel room’s popcorn ceiling, feeling a little weird. _Fuck, this guy is intense_. David is starting to get into his head.

“Yeah. Pretty sure,” Tim agrees, matter-of-fact. There’s no grand plan for his life other than what Tim wants to do with it. There is no master of Timothy McVeigh’s fate other than Tim McVeigh.

“There’s a lot of lost souls at those gun shows,” David says, as if he knows what he’s talking about. 

“Yeah, well, not all who wander are lost,” Tim snipes back, quoting what he thinks is a Bible verse but is really just Tolkien. He turns away from David. Those shows are his living.

A couple minutes later Tim feels David’s hand at his lower back. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says apologetically, hand creeping up Tim’s spine.

Tense, Tim rolls onto his back with a sigh. “Um. Yeah. It’s fine. Sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m just — sorry.”

David’s hand smoothes over the skinny planes of his abdomen, moving lower, taking his limp penis in hand, playing with him and stroking him until his dick begins to stand at attention. “I’ll make it up to you,” David assures.

Tim kisses David again, despite himself. His lips are plush, his mouth warm and inviting, and there’s something about David’s embrace that’s comforting, somehow. Tim’s not a great kisser, either, or at least he feels that way, unsure of what to do with his tongue, his teeth. David makes it feel easy, touches him in a way that makes him feel sexy. 

David holds his palm up to Tim’s mouth. He licks it obediently, groaning when David grips him. David coaxes his dick back into hardness, plays with Tim’s balls, wrapping his hand firmly around Tim until the younger man is bucking into his fist.

“Please,” Tim manages to grunt, trying to keep it from sounding like begging. His long fingers scramble at the sheets, reaching for something to hold on to.

“That’s it,” David encourages, hand moving faster, enjoying the helpless look on Tim’s face. 

Tim screws his eyes shut, sees white as he comes over David’s fingertips. 

It feels good to be out of breath, to feel spent, naked, unashamed.

David’s the one who reaches for the lamp after they fuck, and the room is full of darkness. 

Tim takes a breath. 

_Only steers and queers come from Texas._

*

The next day, Tim decides he wouldn’t mind a round of morning sex, and that he’s willing to fuck David again if he’s up for it. When Tim opens his eyes, David’s already in a chair, pulling his sneakers back on. That settles that.

Tim reluctantly sits up. David’s piled his clothes in a neat pile for him; last night they’d been strewn all over the room. 

Tim’s tying the laces on his combat boots when David steps in front of him. He looks up. The way David stands in front of the light, blocking the glow, gives him a halo.

“I’d ask for your number but something tells me you’re a hard man to pin down, Tim,” David smiles. “Here,” he tells Tim, handing him a phone number written in pencil on a sheet of paper from the motel notepad. “If you ever need anything.”

Tim takes the slip of paper and tucks it into his front pocket, then forgets about it.

Tim hasn’t mastered this part yet, the awkward goodbye. 

When they reach their cars, Tim tries to give David a copy of _The Turner Diaries_, mostly because he attempts to give it away to nearly everyone he meets that seems receptive. He’s got copies of the book everywhere, selling them at gun shows for a price lower than what he paid.

“No, no,” David laughs with a smile. “The Good Book is the only book for me.”

Tim shrugs and starts the engine. “Suit yourself.”

David thumps the top of his car twice.

Tim drives away, keeping his eye on David in the rearview mirror until the man's figure disappears. 

_The road calls._


End file.
